Gifts
by MTT-VB
Summary: An AU story that takes place about three years after Jim Halpert takes the promotion and moves to NYC.  I'll be busy this weekend so I uploaded the last two chapters.  Completed.   I hope you enjoyed!  Thanks again to those who took time to review.
1. The Delivery

**Gifts**

**The Delivery**

"Package for you, Jim." announced his secretary, Debbie, has she hefted a box into his office. "Not heavy, but it sure is bulky."

Jim absentmindedly looked out the window at the bustling Manhattan street 30 floors below. "Oh yeah? I don't remember ordering anything recently. Where's it from?"

Debbie read the label as she set the large box on her boss' desk, "EVEARTS GALLERY in Haddonfield, New Jersey."

"Never heard of it. Thanks, Debbie."

Jim looked in puzzlement at the label on the box before him:

Mr. James Halpert  
Vice President, Sales and Marketing  
Dunder-Mifflin, Inc.  
152 W. 56th Street  
30th Floor  
New York, NY 10019

Interesting. His new title. He'd only been promoted two weeks earlier and this was the first thing he could remember that had been addressed to him with the title Vice President. Everything else had been addressed to Director of Sales, Northeast.

He lifted the box and jostled it lightly. Debbie was right; it was surprisingly light for such a voluminous package. Jim was feeling very curious as he pulled a pair of scissors from his drawer and began to cut the tape on the box. When he peeled away the four flaps, he was met with an unbroken layer of multicolored styrofoam peanuts that totally engulfed whatever was at the center.

Must be pretty fragile, he thought as he plunged his hand into the peanuts, swirling about to find the secret hidden beneath. His hand hit upon stiff, thick paper. He brushed his fingers along its surface until he encountered the edge and wrapped his fingers tightly around it. He lifted the package gently as colored peanuts cascaded out of the box and onto his desk and floor. He could feel a picture frame and glass has he pressed to keep a firm grip on the package.

The parcel that emerged from the peanuts was about fifteen by twenty inches, wrapped tightly with brown craft paper and had an envelope taped to the front that simply said _Jim_ … in Pam Beesly's writing.

Unbelievable. He hadn't spoken to Pam in nearly two years and now, out of the blue, she was sending him a picture? He sank into his chair and stared, paralyzed, at the package on his desk. For a long while he was unable to will himself to tear the envelope away and open it. Finally the command reached his fingers and he found an ivory embossed card in his hands.

He opened the card, only to have his breath hitch as he met the expanse of Pam's fluid, neat writing. He closed the card as he shook his head in frustration. Ridiculous, why was he so affected by this? He hadn't even read anything yet. Get a grip, Jim. Get a grip. He opened the card again, determined to actually read it before responding this time.

_Dear Jim,_

_Wow. I know it must seem really weird that I'm sending you something when we've been totally out of touch for almost two years now. Since I left Dunder-Mifflin, Kelly's been keeping me updated on what everyone's up to. She told me that you were just promoted to VP – congratulations! She also told me that you and Karen broke up a few months ago. I hope you're ok._

_You'll be so proud of me, Jim! (At least I __hope__ you will.) I just had my first one-woman show. No kidding! The gallery where I work had a week between artists' availability last month and the owner decided to showcase my work. I actually __sold__ a few pieces! I guess in my mind that means I'm finally the artist you always told me I was. Anyway, this is one of the pieces that was in the show. I call it __Gifts: Treasured Memories and Wistful Dreams__. I'd like you to have it. (If you want it after you see it.)_

_There is a quote I love by Edward Hopper: "If you could say it in words, there would be no need to paint." There have been so many things I wanted to tell you and I just couldn't get the words out. This pastel says pretty much everything I've wanted to say to you for years. I just needed you to know. Once._

_Love,_

_Pam_

_P.S. It occurs to me that you may think this gesture is too little and way too late. If you don't want this piece, __please__ don't throw it away! This picture means a lot to me and, if you don't want it, I'd like to have it back. I've included a return shipping label, just in case._

2


	2. All His Questions

**All His Questions**

Holy hell. Pam was reaching out to him after all these years. He hardly knew what to make of it. It had been so long – his whole life had changed since he last saw her. His mind drifted back to the beginning of their separation, to his interview with David Wallace. He remembered the phone message slip with the yogurt lid medallion. _Don't forget us when you're famous._ It had really thrown him for a few minutes. He'd stumbled on David's next question. The optimistic part of him wanted to just abort the interview, cut it off and drive directly back to Scranton, to Pam. But the wounded part of him said NO. This wasn't enough_. _An _I miss you_ and a _Don't forget us_ were not enough … even if the _I miss you_ was accompanied by _None of that mattered until I met you_ and was uttered in front of everyone they knew in common. He wanted – he needed – a clear, unequivocal declaration of love. He wanted certainty, bravery, recklessness, passion. He couldn't base a life altering decision on these tepid, halfhearted signals.

So when David said, "Where do you see yourself in ten years?" Jim assumed a self-confident pose and declared, "VP of Sales and Marketing." And David had smiled his satisfaction and replied "I'm glad to hear it, Jim. That's exactly what I see, too. I want to restructure this division and you have everything I've been looking for in this position. How much time do you need to wrap things up in Scranton?"

Jim had spent the next two weeks hoping, hoping that Pam would say _Don't go! Don't leave me! Don't move in with her. Take me with you._ Pretty much anything along that line would've done. But, instead, she told him she was happy for him, that he deserved this promotion, that she always knew he was meant for bigger things than the Scranton office of Dunder-Mifflin. Every time she found a new way to congratulate him, it felt like someone pushed another needle into his heart. Looking back, he realized it was wholly unrealistic to expect that Pam could be selfish enough to try to prevent him from accepting such a significant career advancement. But at the time, when she continually expressed her unalloyed joy for him, it filled him with anger and frustration.

Jim moved to New York with Karen and told himself that he was happy with his new life. At first he thought about Pam a lot. It was a blessing that he relished his new responsibilities and liked his new colleagues. Otherwise, he had no idea how he'd have survived the transition.

When the next Dunder-Mifflin quarterly newsletter came out, Jim discovered that his vengeful streak was deeper than he'd ever imagined. There was a spread about the annual sales conference and, as the Director of Sales, Northeast, Jim was in a number of them. The pictures from the banquet included Karen, who looked spectacular and sexy in her usual understated way. It satisfied Jim deeply to envision Pam drinking cheap white wine and mournfully poring over the newsletter, obsessing on the knowledge that she could've been the woman smiling out of those pictures if she'd only had some balls.

At first, he felt strained every time he phoned for Michael because Pam always responded to his greeting with a false cheeriness that he knew she couldn't be feeling. It was clear, though, that she had a firm grasp on their relative positions on the Dunder-Mifflin org chart and she never once tried to speak to him in their old familiar banter. Sometimes that made him feel smugly superior; other times, frustrated. It never made him happy.

About fifteen months after his promotion, Pam left Dunder-Mifflin. One Monday when he called for Michael, a different voice answered the phone. On Tuesday, there was another voice and on Wednesday, still a third. He finally reached Michael on Wednesday afternoon and was told that Pam had deserted them to go to art school because she thought she looked hot in a beret. Later, Jim called for Phyllis, who informed him that Pam was now a full time student in the certificate program at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts; Phyllis said it was a four year program and pretty competitive to get in.

The news left Jim momentarily stunned and bereft, utterly shocked to realize what a comfort it had been to know that he could hear Pam's voice whenever he wanted – as long as it was between 8 a.m. and 5 p.m. on a weekday. He felt aggrieved that she'd done it again – planned and executed a pivotal change in her life with nary a word to him. It was irrational, he knew, to feel this way because he had distanced himself more and more from her in the time he'd been gone. There was no reason she should feel the urge to or, for that matter, the familiarity to be _able_ to share her plans. He certainly would never expect Rolando, the receptionist in Utica, to share _his_ plans if he left the company.

Hurt though he was, Jim felt proud of Pam, too, and a small sense of contribution to her growth because he'd been the one to voice belief in her talent when no one else did. He wondered if she remembered that. And so he'd lost all contact with Pam, although she always wandered into his mind from time to time.

Jim's life with Karen was tumultuous. The longer they lived together, the more irritated he felt about her values. Jim didn't appreciate Karen's obsession with the trappings of status until they were living in New York, the epicenter of the status conscious world. Karen was constantly refashioning him, trying to burnish the veneer just a bit more, and he found that every time he bought a suit, a piece of furniture – hell, a bottle of wine – his purchase was met with dissatisfaction that he hadn't selected the item that was one notch up. Jim had never cared at all about status symbols and it was aggravating that Karen seemed to be ever judging him, and always finding him wanting.

It annoyed the crap out of him that Karen could never just relax for the weekend. On Saturday afternoons, she insisted that Jim go shopping with her, and he had long since stopped caring about anything she bought. Every Saturday night she needed to go out and be seen. She had to know who were the likely guests at every party before she would decide which they would attend. It occurred to Jim that he was living with an upscale Kelly Kapoor, one who spoke in a normal tone of voice and speed, but a shallow Kelly nonetheless.

Jim began to work late and stopped finding reasons to avoid business trips to his regional offices. Conversations with Karen took on a clipped quality and frequently lapsed into disquieting silence. Sex was infrequent and unsatisfying. His life was empty and he had no partner but he soldiered on out of habit.

Jim was then utterly stunned on the golf course one day when David Wallace announced as they walked the green, "Jim, I was surprised to hear you're planning a big spring wedding. I don't expect you to let work rule your life but I certainly hope you won't schedule the wedding for May. We can't spare you for three weeks right after the acquisition of Tri-State Supply. We'll need to spend a lot of time meeting with their major clients. We can't afford to have you out of the country while the Staples sales team tries to muscle in. Those accounts will be vulnerable until we cement those relationships. I need to be able to count on you."

"Absolutely, David. I have no plans to take any vacation from April through July. I've been planning on this. So – where exactly did you hear I was planning a spring wedding?"

"Rachel said Karen confided in her."

Jim fully knew that David was going to say that. But the moment he _heard_ the words he decided he had to get out of that relationship. He'd told Karen repeatedly that he was _not_ ready to get married and here she was trying to force his hand. Jim had reached the end of his tether and the breakup was swift and decisive.

It was only after he was living in his own space that Jim began to fathom how unhappy he had been. Living with Karen left him feeling stifled and utterly isolated. Karen had projected onto him some kind of ideal man and she was determined to rework him until he fit into her mold. She simply ignored him when his actions or ideas didn't match what she wanted from him. Looking back, he really couldn't explain why he tolerated it. Yes, he could. At first, it was because the alternative was to be alone and wanting Pam. Later, it was inertia, pure and simple.

Now that he was alone again, he did find Pam creeping into his thoughts every now and then. He'd wonder what classes she was taking, what goals she was focused on, who did she hang out with on her Saturday nights, did she have someone in her life who would cheer her on the way he used to – did she even need that anymore – and, most important, did she ever think about him?

He looked down at his hands, holding the answers to all of his questions, hidden in thick layers of crisp brown paper.


	3. If You Could Say It In Words

**If You Could Say It in Words …**

Pam stared intently at the monitor as she fumbled her way through the FedEx website. Normally, Ava handled all the shipping for the gallery and Pam was thoroughly frustrated with the navigation tools on the website. On a normal day, she might've had the mental capacity to click straightaway to the tracking page, but today was by no means a normal day. When she finally found the page she wanted, she studied the packing slip in front of her to make sure she selected the right number on the screen. Already twice today she'd psyched herself out thinking that the package had been delivered when actually she'd chosen the wrong item from the list.

What in God's name had she been thinking, anyway, sending that picture to Jim? He'd probably laugh at what a loser she was or get a restraining order against her. _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ Pam moved her index finger along the ridiculously long tracking number as she squinted back and forth from the paper to the screen. Finally satisfied that she'd selected the right item this time, she double-clicked the number and held her breath while she waited for the screen to update.

Pam felt a rush of excitement and nausea when she saw that the package had been delivered and signed for. An hour ago. She swallowed hard as she mentally calculated how long it might take a package to wend its way through the corporate office to Jim's desk. He either had it now or he would very soon. Unless he was on a business trip or something. Or vacation. Oh, God. If it took him forever to respond, she couldn't know if it was because he was actually pissed at her overture, totally disinterested, or just out of the office. This was gonna make her nuts. How long would it be till she had some sort of response from him? Would he call her? Email? Or, God forbid, use the return shipping label? _That_ would just kill her.

* * *

Jim snapped out of his reverie to reread the card Pam had written.

"_If you could say it in words, there would be no need to paint." There have been so many things I wanted to tell you and I just couldn't get the words out. This pastel says pretty much everything I've wanted to say to you for years. I just needed you to know. Once._

What did Pam want to tell him that she hadn't been able to get out for three years? Jim's heart was pounding as he began to unwrap the frame. When the last of the paper fell away, what he saw took his breath away.

In the foreground of the picture was a small breakfast table set for two. Coming into the frame from the right, a pair of disembodied hands held a teapot – her teapot, _his_ teapot – pouring tea into one of the two mugs. Behind the table was an open, airy room painted in warm and sunny colors. An easel was set up the room and it held a work in progress: two lawn chairs on a deserted rooftop. A sofa protruded in through the left side of the frame, and a pair of lanky, jeans clad legs and bare feet were propped up against the coffee table.

The lazy Saturday morning tranquility of the scene made him smile ruefully. This was exactly the life he used to envision for them. His smile broadened a bit as he contemplated the little details she'd included that no one but the two of them could appreciate: the teapot that he'd given her stuffed with bonus gifts and the painting of the special, private spot they never shared with anyone else.

Jim leaned back in his chair and propped the pastel up on his legs, leaning it on an angle against the edge of his desk. It was obvious how much Pam had matured as an artist over the past two years. The picture looked so – confident? There was nothing tentative about it. The shapes and the shadows were almost tangible. The composition was kind of dynamic, with the hands and the legs pushing their way into the frame. But the colors were so peaceful. He was overwhelmed at how accomplished it was, at how much a real artist she'd become.

As his eyes wandered over the piece, admiring Pam's technique, he began to notice more personal details scattered throughout the composition. Elements of his life inhabited the room comfortably. On the end table by his legs was displayed the photo of him with his brother, Jon, that he'd had on his desk in Scranton. Two copies of Sports Illustrated lay strewn across the coffee table. A guitar was propped up against the wall.

Other features of the room were totally unfamiliar to him. The room was painted a warm, soft, buttery yellow. A large unframed landscape dominated the far wall; it made him smile to think this vibrant and bold painting might be Pam's work. The furniture looked just like what they would buy together. It had clean lines and an interesting geometric print – attractive without being fussy. It looked comfortable to flop in – a key consideration in Jim's furniture-buying decisions. Karen had overruled him when they furnished their loft and he never really felt at home in his own place. This room was more welcoming to him than the one he'd lived in for three years. Was it Pam's apartment, or a figment of her imagination?

As Jim studied the picture, he felt a wave of contentment wash over him. It really was as if she was speaking to his heart. _"If you could say it in words, there would be no need to paint." _So, she'd wanted to tell him she could see them having a life together? His eyes fell back to the teapot and he remembered how euphoric he'd felt that she traded that damn iPod for the little thoughtful gift he'd gotten her. He used to love seeing her use that pot every – holy _shit_, how had he missed _that?_ The hand cradling the teapot was wearing a wedding set! His heart began to pound as he now began to scour the picture seriously for any other details he might have missed. And there, he saw it. The second mug on the table was turned so that only the ends of the words were visible:

**LD'S**  
**T**  
**DDY**

And there, in the place where a fork should be, was a white stick with a red plus.


	4. A Wonderful Life

**A Wonderful Life**

Pam shook her head suddenly as she realized she'd been staring, unseeing, at the monitor for a really, _really_ long time. She glanced down at the clock at the lower right corner of the screen. 2:27 p.m. Wow. She'd been staring for over half an hour. She had _no_ recollection of what she was even thinking about. She was a total wreck. Seriously. How did she ever let Kelly convince her that sending Jim this picture was a good idea?

Pam exhaled a loud sign and began to type and click again. She navigated her way through the gallery's website until she located the pastel. She enlarged it and leaned back to ponder about what Jim might think of the picture.

When she drew it nearly nine months ago – yeah, _that_ symbolism didn't escape her – she'd just broken up with Greg, her latest boyfriend. She had hours and hours of empty time and found that she filled a good bit of it thinking about Jim. Well, truth be told, thinking about Jim was really the cause, not the effect, of her breakup with Greg. Since Jim had moved to New York, Pam had been in four relationships. All ended in a matter of months – not one was strong enough to survive the holidays or the anniversary of Michaels' casino night. At those two times of year, Pam couldn't escape Jim. Everything reminded her of his smile, his touch, his laugh, his kiss. And she'd find herself judging the man she was with – and, inevitably, finding him wanting. So every December and May, she found herself wallowing in Jim: happy memories, bitter disappointments and a litany of _I could've … I should've … Why did I … How could he …_

That's where she'd been when she began to draw this picture – sitting in her living room, envisioning the life that she and Jim could be sharing at that very moment if she'd only had the courage to give him the big sign she'd known he wanted. At that point, about two and a half years had passed since her speech at the beach. She thought she'd ignited a small spark within him. Maybe if she'd _talked _to him instead of taping that stupid yogurt lid to a phone memo slip, they'd actually be married. Not only married but starting a family. As totally distasteful as the concept of having kids with Roy hand been, Pam felt a shiver of excitement at the idea of having a family with Jim – of having his babies. She romanticized the idea of bearing his children – and that _was_ the way she thought of it – _bearing his children –_ having them grow inside her belly, having him roll over in the morning and contentedly rub her growing bulge. And she thought about how she'd tell him. She'd want it to be perfect. She'd want to kick his ass, bowl him over. Because he'd love this surprise, and it would make her unspeakably happy to give it to him.

So she sketched and fleshed out the wonderful life she dreamed they could've had. She thought about how she'd want to tell him that she was carrying his child. She decided that she'd want to tell him first thing on a lazy Saturday morning. And she wouldn't take the test until that very day; she wouldn't be sure until right before she told him so they could experience the new emotions together, drift through the day in a fog of amazement. She didn't think she'd say the words out loud. She'd set the breakfast table with pink and blue flowers and put some kind of DADDY mug at his place and put the pregnancy test stick on his plate. Ew. No. That would be gross. Well, it wasn't as if his mouth would've never – NO! Still gross! She'd put it on a napkin – a throwaway _paper_ napkin – beside his plate.

As she sketched, Pam happily imagined intermingling their lives, their interests. Her paintings and his issues of SI would both be in the room, because she could see him contentedly reading while she painted. She'd let him pick the music – she always loved Jim's taste in music – or maybe he'd play guitar sometimes while she painted and they could create together. Yeah. _They could create a life together_. That just worked on so many levels.

When Pam finished the piece, she framed it herself at the gallery and hung it in the very room it depicted. It gave her a kind of melancholy joy to see it every day and envision the life she could've had. Gradually, though, it began to dawn on her that she never had this life within her grasp. At no point in her life could she have had the paintings and those wonderful long legs in the same room. She could have had one or the other. If Jim had stayed, or if they'd started a long distance relationship, that would've been Pam's world – for at least a while. He would've encouraged her art, Pam knew that, but she also knew she'd never have chosen such a rigorous four-year program if it had meant taking so much time away from him. The burden of guilt and the intoxication of new love would have been insurmountable combination and instead she would've taken a token night course here and there.

Well, there was one way that Pam could've had it all. Jim could have supported her decision to go to school full-time somewhere and stayed at Dunder-Mifflin Scranton so they would have less stress in their lives. He'd still be a slacker, tormenting Dwight to find an outlet for his creative energies. It was a realistic enough scenario. Jim always used to put Pam's needs before his own.

Pam came to the conclusion that they had to have this time apart or she'd have held one of them back. And eventually resentment would develop and fester until it tore them apart. She was sure of it. Or maybe she was just trying to convince herself that it was fortunate that she'd been a coward.

So she'd look at that picture every day and hope to God that Jim wouldn't marry Karen; that they'd break up and Pam could do her best to market Fancy New Beesly 3.0 to the hot salesman from New York.


	5. What Might Have Been

_I'd like to thank the folks who are taking a moment to leave reviews of the chapters ... especially Dagenspear, who's left a review for **every **chapter! I really appreciate hearing your thoughts. Yes, I did reduce poor old Karen to a plot device a couple of chapters back. I just wanted to get her out of the way so the story could move along._

_Please just make a mental correction for the email addresses that appear in this chapter. strips out the at signs and a bunch of text in any URL looking string. So I added spaces and used the word "at" in place of the symbol._

* * *

**What Might Have Been**

Jim was planted in his chair for a long time as his mind ran through a whole gamut of emotions: astonishment, relief, joy, anger, vindication, kinship – a smoldering trace of love? That was insane; he hadn't spoken to Pam in two years. He didn't know her anymore; how could he love her? She might well not be the same person he loved back in Scranton. But still, _something_ had remained unchanged – something _important_ – if she was sending him this picture.

* * *

Pam was lost when Jim and Karen moved to New York. She'd been growing stronger in her determination to let him know how she felt. She'd all but told him – in front of everyone they knew – that she was in love with him. If Karen hadn't been there, she probably would have said it outright. When Jim sought her out as she cooled her feet in the water, she thought she'd really made a huge step forward in repairing their relationship. So she was shocked the next day when Phyllis informed her that Jim was interviewing for a position in New York. She'd cried tears of anger and frustration the whole drive home from work that night. Why had it taken so long to build up her courage?

Pam didn't just love Jim, she admired him. He would get this position, _whatever_ it was, she was sure. He was so talented and smart and personable. They'd have to see it. They'd have to. So he'd be offered the job and finally have the chance to grow and become a leader. He had that in him; she'd always seen it. Jim was a natural leader – the kind of guy who would make someone _want_ to contribute, who could teach people without being condescending, who could make someone see something in herself that she never knew was there before. He'd succeed and be proud of himself – of real accomplishments instead of just successful pranks on Dwight – and she wanted that for him. Pam wanted _wonderful_ things, only the _best_, for Jim – even if his departure meant she'd never have a chance with him again. Because she loved him and because she'd hurt him, Pam firmly believed it entirely fitting that Jim's long-term happiness should supersede her own.

* * *

Jim's mind was racing. Why now? Did Kelly just tell Pam that he and Karen had broken up months ago? Or did Kelly tell her months ago that they had broken up? He reread Pam's card to try to parse out which thing she was saying. She didn't hear about the breakup and then only contact him after she learned of his promotion, did she? No, how could he even think that? Pam was _never_ like that in all the time he knew her. She couldn't have changed _that_ much.

So, when did Kelly tell her about the breakup? How the hell did Kelly even _know_ about the breakup? Jim thought back over his last visit to Scranton. Michael had asked him about Karen.

"_So, when are the two of you gonna tie the knot, Jimbo?"_

"_We aren't."_

"_Still not ready to settle down, huh? She's pretty hot, that one. You'd better not take too long and let her get away."_

"_We aren't ever getting married, Michael. We actually broke up a few months ago."_

"_Oh my God. I'm sorry, man. Did she find another guy?"_

"_Michael. I am not discussing this with you. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't discuss it with anyone else either."_

"_Oh, no. Of course not, man."_

But, even as he'd said it, Michael had been craning his neck, looking around the office. That was it, Jim was sure. Michael told Kelly about the breakup three weeks ago.

* * *

And so for the two weeks preceding Jim's second departure from Scranton, Pam spent her evenings grieving her impending loss. But at work, she assumed the guise of the supportive friend. Jim had made his decision and she didn't want his final memories of her to be a vision of weeping and whining. She would buck up so he'd remember that she'd been a good friend all the way to the end.

Pam endured those two weeks until the last day, but she just couldn't make herself go to the farewell party for Jim _and Karen_. She might've been able to do it if it had been just Jim leaving. She suddenly felt in her gut why Jim had tried to escape to Australia for her wedding day, she understood the clandestine transfer to Stamford. Pam felt a constant pressure on her heart, her head throbbed and her insides felt like they'd been run through a food processor. She couldn't keep anything down; her ribs and her throat were both sore from the constant heaving. She couldn't call him to say goodbye because she didn't want him to hear her quivering and water-logged voice. Instead, she sent him an email that didn't say any of the things that she ardently wanted to tell him; it only said what her sense of propriety permitted.

**From: ****BeezKneez at gmail ****.com**  
To: Jim . Halpert at Dunder Mifflin . com**  
Sent: Fri 05/18/2007  
Subject: Good luck!**

**Jim:**

**I'm so sorry I couldn't make it in today for your farewell party. (I'm sure Michael will make it memorable.)**

**I want to wish you every success and happiness in your new life in New York. I'll miss you.**

**Love, Pam**

She knew Jim saw it because she got a read receipt. But he never replied.

* * *

Two years since they'd spoken a word and here Pam was sending him a picture that said she wanted to have his baby. It was kind of creepy if he thought about it. Stalkerish. But then he'd definitely gone through his own stalker phase with her. He thought about the many bonus gifts he'd stuffed into that teapot – and the years of obsession that they represented. Pam definitely would've had every right to feel creeped out that Christmas.

Jim remembered watching those hands pull each little memento out of the teapot that they lovingly cradled in the picture. As he looked at her hands and the teapot, Jim noticed her signature. _Beesly 11-09_. Nine months ago. Somehow, that made it seem less creepy. That would've been a little over a year after she'd left Dunder-Mifflin, and about two and a half years after his promotion to New York.

Jim leaned back in his chair and considered the picture. She drew it two and a half years after he'd left Scranton for good. What would've happened if he'd listened to the optimistic side of him that wanted to punt on the interview and go back to Pam? Suddenly, he realized he was holding that future in his hands. Two and a half years would've been plenty of time for a courtship, planning a wedding, and – depending upon how impatient they'd been – six to twelve months of marriage. They could well have been starting a family – right now. The picture was dated nine months ago. That'd put them in the hospital right about now. Maybe that's what Pam was thinking about when she drew the picture. Where they'd be if one of them had been really willing to make the leap in the spring of 2007,

Jim looked around his office. If he had Pam, he wouldn't have any of this, he probably wouldn't even be at Dunder-Mifflin anymore. He was sure he wouldn't be a vice president of anything. He loved this job, felt like he'd made a real contribution to turning the company around. It was hard to regret that.

Well, maybe they could've tried the long distance thing for a while and Pam would've come to New York. She would have found a decent art school in New York, right? It was _New York_ for God's sake. But that wasn't what happened and there was no point in dreaming about what they could have done three years ago.

He shook his head. That was all wrong. When Pam drew this pastel nine months ago, it may well have been an ode to what might have been. But the moment she decided to write that note and send the picture to him, it became an invitation to what might be.


	6. An Intensely Personal Exploration

**An Intensely Personal Exploration**

So Pam had had a one woman show? That thought filled Jim with a surge of pride. He quickly Googled _"evarts gallery" haddonfield_ and the gallery's link appeared at the top of the results list. He clicked the link and, scanning the home page, quickly found what he was looking for: _Recent shows._ He clicked that link and there was Pam's name, second from the top. One more click and suddenly there she was, with a dazzling and confident smile the likes of which he'd never seen. God, she looked – exquisite. Her hair was bobbed shorter and framed her face with wavy ringlets. Her skin had a delicate bronze tone and her hair was full of golden highlights that hinted at many hours in the sun in the days before this picture was taken. She looked relaxed and happy and beautiful.

Beneath her photo was an introduction to Pam's show:

_Our own Pam Beesly takes us on an intensely personal exploration of the themes of love, hope and loss. Every one of the subjects of these portraits is someone the artist holds close in her heart. _

He clicked on the first thumbnail, **_Father of the Bride_**. The picture that filled his screen was a pencil drawing of a quiet moment between Pam's father and sister, Rachel, at her wedding. Rachel's face was full of anticipation as she reached up to straighten her father's tie. His face showed a complicated mix of emotions. Pride, amusement, affection, melancholy – how did Pam capture all that in a single moment?

Next, he looked at _New Love_. The watercolor featured Rachel again, this time nursing her new baby. The infant, nestled in Rachel's arms and wrapped up in a soft blanket, was hidden from the viewer. The focus of the portrait was Rachel's face, which glowed with an intense love and contentment.

Jim browsed back to the thumbnails and chose **_With All That I Am, And All That I Have, I Honor You_**. A portrait of an elderly couple filled his screen. Since the show introduction said all the portrait subjects were Pam's loved ones, he supposed these must be Pam's grandparents. The old man in the portrait stood behind a woman who was seated before a vanity. The viewer was situated behind them and could see their faces reflected in its mirror. His face was full of affection while he brushed the woman's short, white hair. Her face, on the other hand, was totally blank, as if she didn't even recognize him. Displayed on the vanity, facing the couple, was a wedding portrait. Jim looked back and forth between the expression of the groom and the old man. Both faces showed the same look of love. It made the contrast between the young and old woman's faces all the more poignant. Now _that_ was commitment.

**_Till Death Do Us Part_** showed Pam's grandparents again, her grandfather looking lost amid a sea of gladiolas, roses, carnations and a casket. Everything surrounding him was smudged and indistinct, leaving his grief in high relief.

He clicked **_Jinx_ **and was met with a portrait of himself. He was seated at his desk, with a can of Coke beside him, looking up with an expression that was openly adoring. Jesus, did he ever really look at her like that? He thought he'd been so good at concealing his feelings. If she saw this look on his face, how could she ever have denied knowing that he was in love with her?

**_My Loss Is Your Gain_** showed him dancing with Karen. It would've been at Phyllis' wedding. Karen's back was to the viewer so her face was hidden as she craned her neck to look up at him. He was smiling down at her as he held her in his arms. My loss is your gain? He blew out a deep breath just thinking how Pam must've felt looking on.

Then there was _**Gifts**. _He compared the picture on the screen to the one that sat in his lap. The screen looked just like the actual picture, so he knew the pictures he'd been viewing were accurate representations of her work.

Jim abruptly closed the web browser. There were more pieces in Pam's show but he'd already seen more than his brain could process. Every other picture in the show featured a member of Pam's _family_. The Beesly clan was especially tight-knit, Jim remembered, and Pam's demeanor always took a turn toward breezy contentment when she talked about them. She _never_ had that look when she talked about Roy but, in Jim's daydreams, she always had that look when she talked about him. Maybe his imagination was more perceptive than he'd ever dared hope. He shook his head, unable to quite grasp that, among the pictures of the family Pam that adored, there were three pictures of himself.

Jim suddenly sat upright and re-opened the web browser. It was crazy but he was going to do this – if he didn't, he'd spend the rest of his life wondering. He navigated to Google Maps and entered the return address on the FedEx shipping label. _1067 Fitzwater St., Philadelphia, PA_. Ah! Not far from Center City at all! It would be pretty easy to find a convenient hotel. Great.

He clicked the link for the street view and took a virtual walk down the street where Pam lived. It appeared to be a modest, blue collar neighborhood. He clicked the advanced search link to find a hotel that was reasonably close to Pam's home. Hot damn! There was a B&B literally two blocks from Pam's doorstep. Philadelphia Bella Vista. Jim called the B there was a cancellation just today and one of their best suites was now available through Sunday. It was a bit steep but … to have a place in _walking_ distance of Pam's place sounded really, really appealing. If things went horribly awry, he could make a quick escape on foot, rather than having to call for a cab. He booked the room without another thought.

So, now the question was email, text or call? Maybe email _and_ text?

* * *

In theory, shipping the picture so it would be delivered on an afternoon that Pam had no classes seemed like a great idea. In reality – a little different. Now that Pam knew Jim probably had it in his possession, every minute that elapsed with no contact left her feeling more edgy and less confident that she'd done the right thing. She kept checking her phone and her email to see if she'd missed a message – as if that were even _possible_ with the volume turned up to the highest level on both the laptop and the phone that were sitting on the coffee table, mere inches from her knees.

It wasn't doing her any good to bite at her cuticles and watch her laptop so Pam forced herself up off the sofa and plodded to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. She puttered about the kitchen, rummaging through her tea selection. It took only a moment to decide that _Tension Tamer_ was the tea du jour. After she put the kettle of water on the burner, she sat at the little dinette table and looked about for something, _anything_, to do while she waited for the water to boil. She decided that she could understand the appeal of smoking. Or drinking to excess. She really could use something to do with her hands. And her mouth. She wasn't going to have any cuticles left if she kept up this constant gnawing at her fingers.

She wandered over to the refrigerator and opened the door, staring blankly at its contents. She flipped the door shut, opened the freezer, and grabbed the half-eaten pint of her favorite ice cream. A bittersweet smile stole over her face as she remembered her first taste of Moose Tracks. She'd been particularly stressed that Monday after arguing with Roy the entire weekend about setting a date for their wedding. She spent the morning planted at her desk, feeling sorry for herself and angry at herself all at the same time – a positively visceral strain from holding in all the rage she would never allow herself to voice. Oh sure, she used to gripe to Jim sometimes, but what she allowed herself to say was nothing compared to what she felt. She was like a balloon with fingers pinched tight at its mouth, stretching tighter and tighter, its skin becoming ever thinner and more friable, as it expanded to accommodate more air than it was ever designed to hold.

She could feel Jim watching her all morning, assessing her mood. He approached her a few times and attempted light conversation, but she was unresponsive. She barely noticed when he left the office for a meeting with a customer.

A little before lunch time, she'd glanced up to see Jim stride through the doorway, wagging his eyebrows at her with a triumphant smile on his face. Her first thought – that he'd planned a spectacular prank on Dwight – was confirmed when he flashed a small brown bag like some kind of contraband, as he leaned over her counter and whispered, "You know, Pam, I have in this bag the most potent mood-altering substance known to man."

And it was as if the fingers that pinched the balloon shut suddenly loosened their grip and the air flubbered its way out, leaving the balloon pliable and relaxed. "_The_ most potent known to man?" she'd asked with her first laugh in a day and a half.

"Absolutely. Forget Ecstasy; this stuff is far more potent. For _you_ anyway. This is guaranteed to improve your outlook on life 100%." He'd cast a furtive glance over his shoulder and whispered ominously as he gestured toward the bag, "We _cannot_ let Dwight know we have this in the office."

So they'd escaped to the break room where Jim ceremoniously unfurled the brown bag and, with a flourish, withdrew a small carton. "May I present – Moose Tracks." He tilted the box so he could read the description on the top as he deftly opened it. "Vanilla ice cream with peanut butter cups and swirled with Denali Moose Tracks fudge." Pam grinned as he pulled two plastic spoons from the bag and handed one to her.

He sat back and watched expectantly with a gleam in his eye while Pam tried a few spoonfuls of the concoction. "Oh my _God_, Jim – this is heaven! I can't believe you found an ice cream with peanut butter cups _and_ dark chocolate! These are like _two_ of my favorite guilty pleasures!" Jim just smiled knowingly at her as he spooned out some ice cream for himself.

They sat together, knees touching, elbows bumping as they took turns dipping their spoons directly into the carton. Somehow, Jim seemed to get all the big chunks of fudge – and always magnanimously offered them to Pam. He never handed her the spoon but playfully held it close to her nose, taunting her with it until she engulfed the bowl in her mouth and devoured the confection.

By the time the ice cream was gone, Pam did feel better. A _lot_ better, actually. It became one of their traditions. Whenever Pam was _really_ down, when Jim felt the need to pull out the big guns, he'd show up at her desk with contraband Moose Tracks. It was invariably a heady, sensual experience: the cold ice cream and hard fudge melting on her tongue; the provocative warmth of their bodies softly bumping into one another again and again; the intimacy of eating from the shared carton rather than from separate bowls; the smooth sensation of licking the ice cream from the spoon that Jim gently thrust into her mouth. It never failed to overwhelm her, leaving her uncertain about what exactly had been bothering her.

They had an unspoken agreement that these moments were for them alone. They never shared Moose Tracks during the regular lunch hour and certainly never when the cameras were in the office.

As Pam dipped into the carton of ice cream, she wondered whether Jim ever ate Moose Tracks anymore. She thought there was a good chance he avoided it for the very reason she always kept it stocked in her freezer.

Ah! The tea kettle was whistling. Finally. Pam dropped the teabags into the teapot and filled it with the steaming water. She leaned over the pot and inhaled deeply as she carefully set the lid in its place.

Suddenly, a bing announced a new mail message and she rushed back to the living room. As she flopped onto the sofa and leaned forward to thumb the touch pad on the laptop, John Mayer started to sing _I hope that someone gets my, I hope that someone gets my, I hope that someone gets my message in a bottle… _A text message, too?

**From: Jim . Halpert at DunderMifflin .com  
To: BeezKneez at gmail . com;pbeesly at vtext . com  
Sent: Thursday, June 18, 2009 2:23 p.m.  
Subject: We need to talk**

**Pam:**

**That was quite an attention getter. Clearly we should talk, but I'm in & out of some pretty important meetings all afternoon. Won't get home till nearly 8:30. Will you be home tonight?**

**Please respond asap. I'm about to head out the door for the first meeting.**

**Jim**

Pam's heart sank as she read and reread Jim's words. She hadn't known what to expect, but this sure wasn't it. She didn't know whether he'd be angry or happy or just surprised at her gift … but she thought he'd be _something_. She didn't expect this totally dispassionate, disinterested tone. _Clearly we should talk?_ What did that even mean? It didn't sound like Jim at all. This couldn't be good.

With a disheartened sigh, Pam sat back on the sofa, hauling the laptop with her, and quickly replied.

**From: BeezKneez at gmail . com  
To: Jim . Halpert at DunderMifflin .com  
Sent: Thursday, June 18, 2009 2:31 p.m.  
Subject: Re: We need to talk**

**Hi, Jim:**

**Yep. I'll be home all evening. **

She paused with her fingers poised over the keyboard.

**It'll be great to hear your voice again. **

She hesitated again.

**Do you have Skype? I'd love to see you. I miss your smile.**

**Pam**

She clicked Send before her courage could fail her. Within seconds, she had a response.

**From: Jim . Halpert at DunderMifflin .com  
To: BeezKneez at gmail . com  
Sent: Thursday, June 18, 2009 2:35 p.m.  
Subject: Re: Re: We need to talk**

**Pam:**

**Sorry. Skype would've been a great idea. Unfortunately, my laptop died last week & I'm not back on the net at home yet. But I'll call you at 8:30. Pencil me in – it's a date.**

**Jim**

Pam laughed shakily. So, he'd been waiting for her reply – that was good. Didn't mention wanting to see her – not so good. He said it was a date – probably just a euphemism but she'd take it. Now she just had to find a way to kill six hours without losing her mind.

* * *

Jim leaned back in his chair with a satisfied grin. This was insane, but he absolutely didn't care about that. He quickly opened the Amtrak website and booked a ticket leaving Penn Station at 6 p.m. and arriving at 30th Street Station at about 7:10. He selected a return with a departure from 30th Street at 7:20 p.m. on Sunday. Three days should be plenty of time to tell if there was still any potential – any spark between them.

Jim called Debbie into his office. "Deb, I know this is short notice but I have something I have to take care of tomorrow. I don't have any meetings on my schedule. If anyone calls for me tomorrow, just let them know that I'll return their call on Monday. I don't want any calls forwarded to my cell this weekend, ok? Starting now."


	7. Finally

**Finally**

Pam was so agitated she could barely contain herself. For three years she'd been idly wishing she could talk – _really _talk – with Jim. And now it was definitely, truly, _for real_ going to happen. There was a count-down. T minus four hours and thirty-seven minutes. It felt momentous, like the launch of Discovery after the Challenger disaster back when she was a kid. She remembered the newscasters announcing the count-down_ hours_ before lift-off.

God, did she really just think that? She was thinking about _NASA?_ About a disaster where everyone was killed in a fiery explosion? Jesus! She had to find something to _do_ with herself. If she was athletic, she'd go for a run or to work out at the gym or something. Pam looked around the room in frustration. Well, the house _was_ a sty. Neither she nor Rebecca would ever be described as a domestic goddess. And Rick? Well, she loved him but the guy left a trail of chaos in his wake. The OCD clean freak syndrome that afflicted their mothers' generation definitely was not passed on to the three cousins. She could clean the place up a bit. That could keep her moving for a _while_.

Pam let her mind wander as she bustled about the house, filing, tossing, washing and dusting. She thought about how Kelly had gotten her into this – into what? She didn't even know what it was yet. But, whatever it was, Kelly could take the blame or the credit.

Pam had been stunned at the sight of Kelly Kapoor strolling through the gallery on the opening night of her show. She remembered the stilted conversation when she first saw her.

"Kelly – hi! Um, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here for your show, Pam. Why _else_ would I be here?"

"How'd you know about it?"

Kelly's head tilted and her face scrunched up in disapproval. "You _told_ me. You said you couldn't go out for drinks on Friday because you had to be here for your show. You know, I still feel really terrible that none of us made it to that little show when you were at Dunder-Mifflin. I told _everyone_ about this show and said they'd _better_ come this time."

Pam's stomach had flipped at Kelly's announcement. As touched as she was that Kelly wanted to make amends for the earlier slight, Pam _really_ didn't want any Dunder-Mifflinites at this show. It would be too humiliating. Kelly's reaction might not be _too_ bad – but Kevin? Or Michael? God forbid, Michael and Angela. Pam shuddered to think of it.

"You have to take me around and tell me about every picture."

"Oh, no. I think you should see them alone. They should speak for themselves, if I did them well."

* * *

Pam thought about what Jim might have to say when he called. He definitely didn't give anything away in his mail message. _Clearly we should talk_. Not _I'd love to talk with you_. But also not _What the hell do you think you're doing?_

She wondered if he even thought about her anymore? Probably not much. She didn't think about Jim all the time, like she used to. She certainly didn't have the constant ache in her heart and the sense of acid churning in her stomach that she suffered for at least a year after his promotion. Her life took a turn for the better when she left Dunder-Mifflin. Not having to avoid looking at his desks for eight hours a day was a distinct help.

Receiving her last Dunder-Mifflin quarterly newsletter was bittersweet. Jim always looked happy when he was featured in one of the pictues. And she could feel her heart expand with pride every time she read about an improvement in the performance of the Northeast sales team. But it hurt to be reminded that she was so totally banished from his life that the most she learned about him was from a couple of sentences about his work performance every fiscal quarter.

And, of course, since she'd left Dunder-Mifflin, she knew even less about Jim's life. Kelly was her only source of information and she couldn't press Kelly with a lot of questions for fear of giving away her fellings for him.

Pam still loved him but she was well aware that the Jim she loved might not even exist anymore. By this time, he might have evolved into a Jim she wouldn't even recognize. And, if that was the case, she thought she could handle it. Part of her problem in moving on, she'd decided, was that she never had any closure with Jim. He'd left her twice – both times without any real goodbye. Both times Pam was left with the unanswerable question – what would've happened if she'd been brave or honest? Now she'd finally have an answer. She realized it might've been different if she'd made the gesture three years ago but it would still be an answer of sorts.

Suddenly Pam heard Cyndi Lauper's voice coming from the next room.

_The phone rings in the middle of the night  
My father yells what you gonna do with your life  
Oh daddy dear you know you're still number one  
But girls they want to –_

"Hi, Kelly."

"Well?"

"Yeah, he got it."

"And? Did he call you?"

"Well, he emailed me. And texted."

"Oh."

"Yeah. And the message was kinda cold. It was like _That was quite an attention getter. Clearly we should talk._"

"Clearly?"

"Yep."

"_Should_ talk?"

"Uh huh."

"Ouch."

"Exactly."

The phone went silent for a moment as both friends struggled to put a positive spin on the comment. Finally, Kelly spoke brightly, "Whatever! You're gonna _talk_ to him, so you gotta make the most of it. What are you gonna wear?"

"Kelly, it's a _phone_ call. His home computer's shot, so he doesn't have Skype."

"Doesn't matter. You have to look your best. You wanna _feel_ sexy and self-confident. You'll flirt better!"

"You've _got_ to be kidding me."

"No! I'm totally serious."

"Kelly – no."

"Fine. Do whatever you want. You know I'm right. You're really shaken up now. I can hear it. You'll be _sooo_ much better at flirting if you're feeling hot."

"I don't know…"

"Hey! Whose advice got you the phone call in the first place?"

"Well –"

"Yeah. That's what I'm thinkin. So. What time's he calling?"

"8:30."

"OK. Call me as soon as you get off, OK?"

"That's what she said."

"I cannot _believe_ you still say that! It's so juvenile. Just call me, OK?"

"All right. All right. Talk to ya later."

Pam returned to cleaning and organizing the first floor. When she finished the first floor, she started on her bedroom. She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. 5:56. T minus two hours and thirty-four minutes.

* * *

Jim hustled about his condo, grabbing clothes and tossing them into his overnight bag. He didn't need much. A pair of jeans, khakis, and a few shirts. As he recalled, Pam was partial to light green on him; so he made damn sure that today's shirt matched his eyes. Such a girl but what the hell, right? If he was gonna do this whole surprise appearance thing, may as well go for the maximum effect.

Jim ran through a mental checklist as he packed: running shoes, shorts, T-shirt, underwear, socks, toiletry kit. He paused when he saw the box of Trojans. Too presumptuous? He thought back to advice his mom used to give hime when he was a teenager. He always used argue with her about whether he'd put on his deodorant. He'd insist, _I think I did already._ And she'd retort, _Jim, which is the better mistake to make? _Jim smiled wryly. Probably not the way she ever intended him to apply her wisdom, but it definitely worked. The box went into the overnight bag.

Wine. Better take some wine. Those damn Pennsylvania state stores didn't have the best selection, and who knew how far one was from Pam's place? Without a computer, he couldn't look it up before heading to the train station. And he definitely wanted to show up with a nice bottle of wine. Chianti Classico and Pinot Grigio. Always solid choices.

That about did it. Jim zipped up the bag and headed out of his building to hail a cab to Penn Station.

* * *

OK. The entire house was tidy … well, except for Rick & Rebecca's rooms. And her zeal to keep moving didn't go _that_ far. Jim still wasn't due to call for over an hour. Now what?

Pam glanced up in the mirror and, seeing her sweaty and rumpled reflection, reconsidered Kelly's advice. Man, she hated to admit it, but it _did_ kind of make sense. Right now her nerves were shot. It certainly wouldn't do anything to sharpen her wit if she was constantly thinking about how her deodorant gave out like an hour ago. Maybe…

In no mood to relax in a hot bath, Pam turned on the shower. Tepid would be good – she needed to cool off. She showered quickly and hurried back to her room to dress. Now that she'd decided to follow Kelly's advice, there was no doubt in Pam's mind about what she would wear for Jim's phone call. She quickly brushed her hair and twisted it up in a loose clip at the back of her head. Tonight, Pam's hair would fall behind her in a cascade of loose curls, leaving her neck and shoulders exposed. She went to her jewelry box and selected her favorite pieces. The necklace had alternating wide and narrow ovals of spiny coral, each one set in a substantial sterling frame. The earrings were triangular pieces of spiny coral, set in the same type of silver frame – complimentary but not exactly the same. It was a one-of-a-kind signed set. She'd fallen in love with it when she and her sister had taken a trip to New Mexico the summer after Jim's promotion. It was beautiful Navajo work, or so Rachel said – and, if anyone, she would know. The set cost a prince's ransom but Rachel insisted on buying it for her. It was the best jewelry Pam owned; the first _statement piece_ she'd ever had the courage to wear and she still felt beautiful, sophisticated and artistic every time she put it on.

Pam smiled at her reflection in the dresser mirror. With her hair swept up off her neck, the beautiful jewelry and softness of her nude skin glowing in the muted afternoon light, she felt exotic and erotic. Images of Ingres' _La_ _Grand Odalisque _and Titian's _Venus With a Mirror_ flitted through her mind.

* * *

He'd gotten over Pam. Really. He had. About a year into his move, he'd noticed that he didn't think about her much anymore. And somewhere in the second year he forgave her. Actually said the words to himself, _I forgive you, Pam._

He and Karen had been visiting his parents for a few days and went to Mass with them. Fr. Daly, their pastor, was a wonderful speaker and even the non-religious could find guidance in his sermons. That Sunday he talked about forgiveness and how anger doesn't really hurt anyone but the person who carries it around. The words had resonated with Jim and he'd thought to himself _I forgive you, Pam. You never meant to hurt me and I forgive you._ And it was true. Saying the words, _meaning_ the words, had released him from the residual anguish that used to overcome him from time to time. He was finally free of Pam.

Jim liked what his life had become. It felt good – so good – to base his self-worth on things other than his failed attempts to get Pam to love him. He had real, meaningful accomplishmentsthat he could point to: growth in gross sales and market share in his region; the rise of younger employees whose professional growth was enhanced by his mentoring; several classes toward an MBA under his belt. So much more satisfying than when his gauge of a good day was how many times he got Dwight to march in a huff into Michael's office, or how many times he got Pam to smile before she went home to Roy. He'd grown up in the last three years.

He had an idea that Pam always saw this in him – this person who could lead other people, and do it well. He knew he'd always seen an artist in her. He wasn't sure what avenue she should take: interior design, graphic design, portrait painting. But he knew she had a lot of talent that would remain untapped as long as she was saying "Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam."

So now they'd both fulfilled the potential that the other had seen all along. It was a weird analogy but he felt like they'd both been caterpillars that saw the other as a butterfly. Now they both _were_ butterflies, no denying it; maybe now they could approach each other with less fear. Maybe they could _do_ this now? He wanted to see if they could.

* * *

Pam knew there were things she'd want to be different than what they'd ever had in their relationship. She didn't want to be the damsel in distress, the needy girl, ever again. She didn't want things to be all about her. Looking back, she simply couldn't comprehend the things Jim did for her. When he came back from Stamford with Karen in tow, for a few months Pam had a glimpse of the torture Jim had lived with for years.

She remembered the day they'd pranked Andy over that awful self aggrandizing ring-tone. She didn't care that she was absolutely Jim's last choice of a pranking partner. She'd felt a heightened awareness of him as they wordlessly executed the crime, a shock wave radiating up her arm when his fingers briefly brushed against hers. She had stood at the back of the office, toying with her little pendant, sure that the whole office could hear her heart palpitating wildly in her chest.

And _that_ was the result of an interaction that lasted under two minutes. How had Jim endured the Moose Tracks liaisons? They were shot through with sexual tension – that was the very reason they always made her forget her problems. How could a girl feel anything but elated when a guy as gorgeous and kind as Jim focused all his attention on her, speaking quietly in that sexy low hum, making her feel wanted and beautiful with every whisper and touch. It had to have killed him. If he ever could love her again, she vowed it wouldn't cost him so much.

* * *

Jim checked the house numbers as he strode down Fitzwater Street, balancing the pizza box and clutching the bottle of Chianti. 1079, 1077, 1075. His heart started beating faster, harder. 1073, 1071. He could feel the saliva pooling in his mouth. He really had to do something to calm his nerves before he knocked on that door.

As he approached 1067, the door opened and a tall guy appeared in the doorway. Jim noted with displeasure that he was pretty good looking – in an unkempt sort of way. Kind of the way _he_ used to look, back when Pam still knew him.

The guy turned back in the doorway and called into the house, "Pam? Hey, I probably won't get home till close to three. Wait up for me?" His tone was laughing and suggestive and he smiled broadly as he listened to Pam's response. "Oh, you _betcha_ I do! I wait with bated breath!"

Jim halted at a dead stop. He could barely breathe. How could this be? How could she have sent him that picture if she was _living with a guy_? It was as if his brain shut down. He couldn't get past that one thought.

The guy closed the door behind him and walked toward Jim, who was rooted where he stood. He really should start walking, he knew. Turn around and head back to the B&B, gather up his things and get back to 30th Street Station before the last train left for New York.

But he couldn't move. He stared at the good-looking, rumpled guy, transfixed. Still trying to process why Pam would do this to him.

As the guy walked by him, he glanced briefly at Jim's face. Jim felt angry and aggressive. He glaringly tried to make eye contact but the guy's glance fell away. Jim stood on the sidewalk, fifteen feet from Pam's door, trying to decide what to do.

"Hey." The voice behind him was urgent. Jim turned toward it, to see the guy retracing his steps back toward him. Now the guy had a perplexed but smiling expression. His voice was friendly, inquisitive. "Hey – are you Jim?"

Jim responded guardedly, cocking his head. "Yes?"

"What – you're not sure?" The guy openly laughed. "I thought you were supposed to _call_. Pam definitely said phone call."

"I'm sorry. You are –?"

"Oh. Right. Sorry. Rick Morgan – Pam's cousin. We live together. With my sister, Rebecca." Rick extended his hand toward Jim. A wave of relieve washed over Jim. He tucked the wine bottle under his arm and grasped Rick's hand.

"Nice to meet you. She's, ah, expecting my call?"

"Oh, yeah. You could say that." Rick grinned. "Man, this is too perfect." he said to himself more than to Jim. He addressed Jim, "You head on up. I think you guys will have a good evening. I gotta run. Got a gig to get to. Maybe I'll see you later."

As Rick ambled away, Jim could hear him mutter, "Perfect. Too damn perfect." It left him a bit perplexed but bouyed his confidence all the same. He strode up to the front door and lightly pressed the doorbell with the top of the wine bottle. He heard Pam's laughter as she approached the door.

"You are too much! Do you never remember your k–"

The door flung wide open. Simultaneously, Pam's and Jim's eyes went wide open and they both gasped, "Oh my God!"

"Jim."

"Pam."

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, then began to speak over one another.

"You said you were going to _call._"

"You said you were going to be _home_ all night."

Pam stepped back and motioned to herself. "And here I am. At home."

"But, ah, you're dressed to go out. Were you – were you planning to meet someone later?"

"Oh! No."

"You just got home from somewhere?"

Pam started to blush. "No." She shook her head slowly, while studying Jim's feet. "No."

Jim took half a step back as he appraised Pam. Her hair was swept up and fell in teasing ringlets at the back of her head. She wore a halter dress that hugged her body lightly in all the right places. Her neck and shoulders – and other parts – looked awfully inviting. This was really very unfair. It was going to be so hard to concentrate on anything she _said_ tonight. He imagined unclipping her hair, and untying that dress, and –

He snapped his attention back to the moment. "You did all this," he made a sweeping downward gesture toward Pam, "for me? For my _phone call_?"

Pam blushed even more deeply as she nodded her head and hesitantly raised just her eyes to meet Jim's. "Yeah," she whispered sheepishly "Kelly convinced me that I'd do better if I felt beautiful and –"

"Sexy?"

Pam bit her lower lip and nodded silently as she blushed a shade of red that Jim was sure he'd never seen on a human face. He felt flush with excitement and possibility. She looked flustered and adorable and sexy as hell and –

How on earth was it possible that he could look _this_ much more handsome than he had three years ago? He was full of self-assurance and still lean and lanky – no boy left in the man before her and it made her giddy that he'd come all the way down to her today. So she was grinning and suddenly not flustered at all and –

God was he glad that she sent him that picture. And he glanced past her and there was the room that beckoned him to come, the warm walls and the painting and the coffee table awaiting his feet.

And again they began to talk over one another.

"Would you like to come in?"

"So, are you free for dinner?"

"I thought you'd never ask!"

"I thought you'd never ask!"

Pam glowed happily as she leaned forward to give Jim a light kiss on the cheek. She took the pizza box from his hands and led him into the room she'd dared to share with him. She'd invited him into her life and he'd come and … sure, they were different people but anything was possible.


End file.
